On a Clear Night

Last night's Moon Knight was better than I expected, even better than last week's. The teleplay by Rebecca Kirsch and Matthew Orton had things I even loved though it also had the kinds of problems I would expect from something rushed.

I loved the dynamic between Steven and Marc (Oscar Isaac) in this episode. I loved how you could read everything Steven says as something Marc says to himself or as an something a separate and independent character would say. It makes sense of the resentment Steven has for Marc and for any kind of violence. Steven is a mechanism to avoid confronting the reality of their abusive mother but he's also an internalisating of her implacable morality. Marc is forced to live in a world of greys while Steven has the freedom to see things in more black and white terms.

I loved how Dr. Harrow (Ethan Hawke) actually gave him useful advice about opening up to himself. I wonder if there's anything actually of Harrow in him or if Marc's mind is just using his face.

I wish a little more time could've been spent on the dynamics of Marc/Steven's family. I like the idea of him having an abusive mother but the way she's portrayed feels too much like an After School Special. I'd have liked some clues about how his father was handling the situation. Did he ever confront her?

I wish Kirsch and/or Orton had not written Taweret, the hippo goddess, as incompetent. That felt a bit hackneyed. She's been doing this for thousands of years, there's no reason she should need cue cards.

But in the main, I really liked this episode. I liked the bird skeleton Steven sees when chasing the kids into the cave, a little omen of Konshu or another thing to make the boundary between dream and reality less certain. I hope Steven is actually dead. As much as I like him, I want him to have the dignity of the episode's nicely tragic ending.

Moon Knight is available on Disney+.

Twitter Sonnet #1575

The time it ticks to crack a clock is one.
The weak it breaks could foster depths of foam.
To seek a debt in purses cut is done.
The stranger's eye is sculpted straight from home.
A rainy heat abused the drop of names.
To walk in wind invites the mad to dunk.
The man to think of crowns in hock remains.
A metal gripper brained the heartless lunk.
Decisive sand was changed for sugar dust.
But grains of stone were never solid ground.
A second colour claimed the name of rust.
A Spanish song arranged the morning sound.
A tiny bird could make you think of caves.
But never blink to raid Egyptian graves.